


The Magician Wife and the Heart of Lead

by GretchenSinister



Series: GretchenSinister's First Blacksand Week [4]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23048290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister
Summary: OKAY something has got to go to press today, as it were. So I’m breaking the fic into two parts.For Day 4: Lyric PromptI was a heavy heart to carryBut he never let me downWhen he had me in his armsMy feet never touched the groundSo what this inspired me to do was sort of a Cupid and Psyche-style fairytale, with fem!Sandy because [image: comic panel of Dr. Doom blowing a horn. Text: Toot! Fool! Dr. Doom does as he pleases!]All right then. Here we go.
Relationships: Pitch Black/Sanderson Mansnoozie
Series: GretchenSinister's First Blacksand Week [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656247
Kudos: 5
Collections: Blacksand Short Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr on 7/11/2013.

“You knew your husband was a creature of darkness, a man of night.” The voice of the black mare echoes in Sandra’s mind like the howl of a ship-wrecking storm. She has no idea how it got into the fine house, the windowless bedroom where she now sits alone. She does not know, and she does not particularly care. Unshed tears sting in her eyes like grains of sand. “You knew he could not bear the touch of light. And still you tricked him into stepping into the garden at noon.”

* * *

(“No light at all?” Her first sister had said. “How do you know he is not a devil?”

“How do you know he is not _seven_ devils?” Her second sister had asked wickedly. “One for every night of the week?”

“You must see him in the light, Sandra. You must see him, for otherwise, how will you know he is not a monster?” Her first sister had continued, her expression a picture of concern for Sandra. A perfect picture, almost as if it had been practiced.

“You must make him see _you_ in the light,” Her second sister had said, idly forcing open a moon flower before tearing it to pieces. “Otherwise, how will you know if he thinks you are beautiful?”

Sandra had blushed, looking down into her tea. She had not the willow-like form exalted in ballads, nor the snow-pale skin. The men that pursued her sisters had never pursued her. Perhaps that was why she had been open to meetings in dreams with a strange, shadowy figure. A formless shadow with a warm voice, that had asked her about her hopes, her dreams, her wishes. A shapeless thing that had promised to never harm her, to give her the world. That of all his treasures, she would be the greatest.

She had not explained this to her father when he received the letter from the tall black sorceror’s house on the hill, asking for her hand under a set of most unusual conditions. She had seen the letter and knew that the bride-price was enough to cover all objections. When she had agreed, he had merely been relieved that she was beginning to act as a woman should.

(“I will teach you magic,” the shadows told her. “You will be a queen brighter than the sun, and the earth will tremble where you walk.”)

And so she had married the sorcerer in the house on the hill, without ever seeing his face.

“Sisters…” she had said, her voice quiet, “I believe there are ways for a wife to know if she has married a monster or not, to know if her husband is the same man every night or not, to know if her husband thinks she is beautiful or not, without the aid of light.” For had not she answered the first questions to her satisfaction with her hands and lips and tongue, and had not he answered the last question by the same means and more?

“I could draw him, if you doubt me,” she had said, blushing even more, but smiling as she did so.

She had not seen her sisters glance at each other.

“But you will not know what color his eyes are,” her first sister had said.

And the faintest hint of curiosity had crept into Sandra’s expression.

Her sisters had smiled kindly then, for they knew they had won. They knew how these stories went. But they did not fear their ending, for had not their own lives shown such endings never happened?)

* * *

“You tricked him into going into the light,” the black mare said with no sound in Sandra’s ears but a tempest in her mind. “And so he may never return here. He has gone away to be a king in his own country.”

Sandra did not fear the mare, she realized. It was only a messenger. The skills Pitch had taught her would be more than enough to protect her from it, to send it away—to make it answer her questions. She looked up into its gleaming golden eyes.

“How do I get him back?”

The mare stamped its hooves. “He will not remember you.”

“How do I get him back?”

The creature reared. “His land is a land of monsters that would devour you!”

“How do I get him back?”

The messenger let out a half-whinny, half-scream that seemed to shake the stones of the house. “It will be difficult! Difficult as climbing a mountain of greased glass!”

“I am not afraid. I fear no challenge.”

The mare hung its head. When it spoke again, the storm in its voice seemed to be subsiding. “You must find his heart. It could not stay with you, but neither could it be drawn back to his country! Do you realize how much that meant he loved you? His own nature warred with his love, and now his heart has been thrown to the ends of the earth. His love for you! And you called him into the burning light!”

“I will make amends! I find his heart, what then?”

“Then you must carry it to the Land of Shadows, where he is king. It is not on any map, and it cannot be reached by any road or path, and it borders no river or sea.”

“What then?”

“You will fail, little woman! You must go to him, and give him back his heart. With his heart returned, he may remember you. It will be up to him, then, if he will take you back. He will remember you calling him into the light!”

“I will try anyway.”

“There is one more thing,” the mare said slyly. “Only the king can travel whole between the Land of Shadows and other places. You must give up something of yourself to gain passage there.”

“I am not afraid,” Sandra lied.

At that the black mare snorted, and it turned and left the house without another word.

Sandra left the house at dawn the next morning, taking little but the clothes on her back, a sturdy pair of shoes, and a walking stick. The greatest weight in her pack was the book of magic she had been studying in the day and speaking of at night with Pitch. She would continue to study it on her journey—it might help her in some way, after all.

She walked away from her home, the sun at her back. She did not know where to find a heart, but the direction of the setting sun seemed superior to the others.

For days she walked, and learned nothing but a few words in Wind.

For weeks she walked, and learned nothing but how to sing bandits to sleep.

For months she walked, and learned nothing but how to call the dust from the trail to carry her through the air.

For a year she walked, and at the end of that year, she had learned all there was to learn from the book, so she left it with a widow and her daughters. In exchange, she asked to talk with the widow.

“I am looking for a heart,” she said to the widow after her daughters had gone to sleep. “It is somewhere on the earth, but I do not know where to begin my search. I have already sought it for a year, and might as well be beginning this day.”

The widow tapped her fingers on the book of magic and gazed at its battered cover for a few moments before answering. “When my husband died,” she said, “I was sure my heart had been buried with him, and I had lost it forever. But sometimes, in dreams, he brings it back to me. I am not a great magician like you, lady. But perhaps you should start looking in dreams for the heart you have lost.”

“I am not as great a magician as I had thought,” Sandra said. “For I have not yet learned anything about dreams. Thank you, though. I think you are right.”

She flew north on her cloud of sand and dust when she left the widow’s cottage, for autumn had begun, and it was in the north that the people, and animals, and plants, would be turning to sleep and dreams more and more.

She flew for days, and, without the book, learned to see dreams, glimmering and gamboling about the heads of sleepers.

She flew for weeks, and learned to hear dreams, and understand their language of suggestions.

She flew for months, and learned to smell and taste dreams.

She flew for a year, and learned to touch dreams, and ask them questions in their own language. _Where is Pitch’s heart? Where is my husband’s heart? Where is the heart of the King of the Land of Shadows?_

When she had flown for a year and a day she landed in a city so far north it had already felt the touch of snow. It glittered in the day, and there was a festival being held at its center. The dreams of lovers, sympathetic to her plight, had brought her here. They told her the heart was somewhere in the city, somewhere at the festival.

She walked through the booths and tents for hours, until she stopped before a small, bright tent with a table in front of it on the periphery of the festival.

“What are you looking for, lady?” The man behind the table asked. He was very tall, and broad, with a long white beard. He looked on her with kindness, and there was something in his blue eyes that reminded her of when she had started to learn magic.

“A heart,” she answered, finding herself unable to explain more. She had talked so much to dreams lately that human language no longer came easily to her mind.

The man looked thoughtful. “I have many unusual things for sale, but I am not sure any of them is a heart. Please look anyway.”

She examined the objects on the table and in the tent when the man pulled back a canvas panel. He had been telling the truth. He had many strange things, but some were stranger than others.

“This is a heart,” she said, holding up a delicately painted egg. “But it is not the heart I am looking for.”

“This is a heart,” she said, picking up a rough wooden staff, “but it is not the heart I am looking for.”

“This is a heart,” she said, letting the chain of a gold necklace set with jewels and human teeth run through her hands, “but it is not the heart I am looking for.”

“This is your heart,” she said, cradling a curious and intricate clockwork device in her hands and looking up at the man. “Perhaps you should be more careful with it.”

She was almost about to leave when a swath of black fabric, rumpled in the corner, caught her eye. Something about it reminded her of the sheets in the windowless bedroom. She knelt down, picked up the corner, and pulled it. There was something heavy caught in the center, and as the fabric unwound it fell with a heavy clunk to the ground. It was a misshapen lump of lead, slightly larger than a grown man’s fist.

“This is the heart I am looking for,” she said, and picked it up. It was cold and heavy in her hands, and she felt the bitter sand of her tears at the corners of her eyes once more.

“It doesn’t look like much,” the man said, eyeing the object skeptically. “Are you sure it is the one you want?”

She nodded. “I must take it to the Land of Shadows, which is not on any map, and cannot be reached by any road or path, and borders no river or sea.” She looked up at the tentkeeper. “What do I owe you for it?”

“I think you have paid enough for it already,” the man said, his face contemplative. It had been a very long time since he had studied magic, but he knew deep power when he saw it. “And yet you will pay more. No one can go into the Land of Shadows whole.”

“So I have been told.” She looked away from the heart and up at the man. “Do you know how to reach it?”

“I have known a few who have gone there,” he said, “but none of them made plans to return. You, I think, would like to return to the world of the light after you have brought the heart there.”

She nodded, tracing the battered metal of the heart with her fingertips.

_In a land with no sun and no moon, the King begins to dream the first dream to trouble his sleep in two years and two days._

“There is a dark wood not far from here,” the man said, tugging on his beard. “It has no paths, and much of it is unknown. Perhaps you might find a way into the Land of Shadows there.”

“Thank you,” she said, and walked away from his tent, and the festival, and the cold northern city.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Note: The references in part one to other Florence + the Machine songs was intentional, but I guess just as a bonus. I don’t do anything with it.)
> 
> Okay, so the ending is pretty heavily influenced by The Darkangel by Meredith Ann Pierce (if you haven’t read it, I recommend it. It’s about a vampire on the moon and a girl who makes him into a prince again) but roll with me here.
> 
> The forest in the Land of Shadows? I stole it from a long-dead Italian. Think circles.
> 
> Okay enough fiddle-faddle. LET’S GO.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr on 7/11/2013.

The heart was too heavy for her sand cloud to carry, and she had to walk into the trackless woods for three days and three nights before she was far enough from the road for the sentinels of the Land of Shadows to notice her.

At first she thought they were merely fragments of her weariness, her hunger, her thirst. But soon they grew bolder. They stepped out from behind the trees and walked beside her, black shadows in the faint starlight, moving almost like men.

“You are the one who drove our king into the light,” they whispered. “What are you doing here? You do not want him. Why did you not leave him his darkness? We do not want you. He is sorrowful, and has begun to dream. This is your fault. Leave him his kingdom. Let him forget you again. We want our king. The king of the Land of Shadows should not love.”

“But he has,” Sandra said, but she did not tell them about the proof she carried with her. “I must see him again. He is my husband. Surely I have the right?”

“He has forgotten you! He does not know why his dreams are troubled!”

“I must see him,” she said again.

“You drove him into the light!” they shrieked.

“And I must tell him I am sorry.”

The shadows condensed into a knot and muttered among themselves. After anxious minutes, one large shadow broke away from the group and slithered over to Sandra. “You may come into the Land of Shadows, and you may leave when you have apologized. As with everyone who comes to our realm, you will pay a price to enter. We will choose the price.”

Sandra nodded. “And you will let your king decide if he wishes to follow me when I leave?”

The shadow hissed. “Yes,” it said, its voice full of loathing.

“We have a deal,” she said, refusing to show fear regarding the payment they would choose to take from her. “And if you go back on it, I will give you all dreams.”

The shadows writhed as if in pain. “Very well,” they said. “Now sleep, and wake in the Land of Shadows.”

Sandra woke from a terrible formless nightmare, trying to scream. She tried to scream, but did not succeed. _Oh,_ she thought, _that is the payment the shadows took. My voice_. She was not sure how she would speak her apology now, but she refused to dwell on it. She had made her choice, and she would do whatever it took to get Pitch back—or at least give him his heart back.

Around her there was no light, but she found she could sense the landscape as she sensed dreams. She was in a vast forest, much like the one she had fallen asleep in, but in this one there was a path. She held the heavy heart close to her own, and in a moment she knew which way to follow the path.

She walked for hours, or days, or weeks. She did not know how long she walked in the Land of Shadows, with no moon or sun. There was no light, no heat, and no wind. All she heard were her footsteps and the eerie sighing of the trees. When she listened to them as she listened to dreams, she discovered that they were not true trees at all, but those who had come to the Land of Shadows without planning to return to the world of the light.

With this understanding her heart seemed to become heavier than the one she carried, and, thinking it could not make anything worse, she began to send dreams to the trees. Clumsy at first, by the time she reached the palace, her dream-creatures were as graceful and free as any living thing, and they even began to glow with a faint light, the first that had ever been seen in the Land of Shadows.

The palace was grand, but still and silent as she approached, the heart weighing heavier on her with every step. She saw no shadows, and when she reached the gates, she found they were unlocked.

She wandered empty halls, pausing often to lean on the walls and rest, for the heart did not lighten.

After what seemed like an age, she stepped into a large, open room, and with her dream-sight she saw it was empty too, save for a large yet simple throne, and the man who sat upon it, unmoving and silent.

And when she saw him she gasped soundlessly, for surely this must be the King, this must be Pitch Black, this must be her husband. She saw him with her dream-sight, saw him for the first time, and she gasped, for he was beautiful. And though she had known this with her hands, it was different and somehow terrifying for her to see his beauty with her dream eyes, to look at his elegant features and thick dark hair and long, lean, limbs, and be unsure if she would be allowed to touch them again.

And still she did not know the color of his eyes, for they were closed.

Pitch.

Her mouth formed the word, but no sound passed her lips.

Summoning up the last of her strength, she slowly walked forward, aching step by aching step, until the weight of the heart had bent her small form double. She was three steps from the throne when it became too much for her to bear, and it slipped from her fingers, falling heavily on the black marble of the floor with a sound like a funeral bell.

No matter how much she tried, she could not move it again. And then it was that the tears behind her eyes stopped being dry sand and flowed from her, for she could not give Pitch his heart. She could not give Pitch his heart, and she could not speak to apologize, and she was too afraid to touch him again. She would be lost in the Land of Shadows forever, with nothing but dreams, which were wonderful, but not enough, no, never enough.

At the sound of the heart falling on the floor, Pitch opened his eyes. He saw before him a small, plump woman with a beautiful face and long curling hair, trying to move a lump of lead and weeping.

“You are no shadow,” he said, and the sound of his voice made her but weep the more, “and you are not like the others who come to the Land of Shadows. Who are you? You bring to mind my troubled sleep…and yet you are the most beautiful being to ever come into this realm. I should not be troubled by dreaming about you.”

Sandra looked up at him and wiped her eyes, desperately wanting to see the color of his. They were gold as the harvest moon and Sandra’s tears dried then, knowing that for those eyes she would find a way to return his heart, no matter how heavy it was.

“Though for me,” Pitch said, looking off into the distance, “All dreams must be troubling. For there are no dreams in the land of shadows, nor love. Because I do not dream—or I did not—and I have no heart.” He pressed his hand to his chest, which was bare. “In dreams I do, and they feel like memory, but that cannot be true. I could never have been anything but the King of Shadows. After all, they do not let me leave.” And his face too was stricken with sorrow. “I almost wish you could stay with me, stranger,” he said, “though you are not of this place, and you will not stay.”

_I will stay if I must_ , Sandra thought, setting her jaw. _And you will have your heart_. She stood up, leaving Pitch’s heart on the floor, and walked up to the throne. She bowed her head before him, wondering if this would be the apology, but she felt no change in the magic of the place. She looked up into his eyes then, and, in desperation, mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

And Pitch, who was used to seeing things in the dark, and listening to the strange laments of the trees, and could tell the lady was afraid he would not forgive her, understood.

“I do not want you to be afraid,” he said, “I believe I would forgive you if I knew what you had done.” He held out his hand, and Sandra took it, pressing her cheek to his palm, hoping the touch would stir as many memories for him as it did for her. Perhaps if she kissed…but no, he did not understand, yet. His golden eyes held awe for her touch, but no recognition.

“You would dare to take the hand of the King of the Land of Shadows,” he murmured. “Now I know it must be you who is responsible for the dreams of the trees. For you would dare bring light to this land also. You have thrown my shadows and nightmares into much confusion. They have left the palace to try and find somewhere in the world you have not touched. Do you think they will succeed?”

Sandra glanced down and shook her head. He did not seem angry, though, so she glanced up shyly after a moment. He had begun to smile. “Do not worry, my lady. I rule shadows, but I do not scorn light. Oh no.” The smile vanished and the look of longing reappeared. “I cannot bear light, except perhaps the light of dreams, but I yearn for it as much as any heartless thing can yearn. Is it like my heart? Did I have it once, and lose it? I dream of warm touch that feels as I imagine sunlight should feel. I dream that the light embraces me, and its love for me will let me walk freely in the world even at noon. I dream this dearest wish is granted.”

_I was wrong_ , Sandra thinks. _I was wrong, and the black mare was wrong, and the shadows were wrong. I did not trick him into stepping into the light. He stepped into the light because he loved me, and loved the light, and thought this would save him._

_And he was wrong, because a heart of shadow still beat in his chest then. But though it was the heart in his chest, it was not the one he possessed, and still possesses. And that is the heart that must be given to him._

She looked around her for something that would help her do what must be done, and soon found what she sought in a narrow, dark, blade Pitch wore at his side.

Sleep now, she commanded in the glittering language of dreams, no longer afraid that this soft light would cause him to vanish as the sunlight had. With the soundless words he seemed to almost remember something, but in an instant his eyes were closed and he had fallen forward. Sandra carefully pulled him from the throne and laid him on his back. She opened his robes to fully bare his chest (oh smooth skin she had rested her head upon many times before!) and took the blade from his side.

It would be sharp, she knew, for if shadows could not pierce hearts the forest in this land would not be so vast.

Before she began, she hesitated, but only for a moment. She knew enough magic to know that this was what must be done, even though she did not know what would become of her afterwards. She could not refuse her chance to reclaim Pitch.

With the blade of shadow she made a long cut in his chest, just left of the center. The blade was so sharp it cut through bone and muscle with ease, and in all too short a time she found herself looking at the dark space which was meant to hold a heart.

Black blood coated her hands and arms, and she closed her eyes, and tried to think of the sun, and the moon, and the stars, before making the same cut on herself. It was impossible to say for sure in the darkness, but she could have sworn that her blood spilled gold, not red, onto the marble, and glowed with a faint light. Her heart seemed golden too, when she pulled it from her chest, though by that time she could not be sure of anything she was seeing.

With an effort more of will than of muscle, she pressed her heart within Pitch’s chest and pushed the edges of the wound closed. She felt a beat under her fingertips and saw the wound begin to knit, and she tried to smile.

Pitch awoke to find the head of his beloved resting on his chest, and he sighed in relief. He had just had the most awful dream of losing her, and being imprisoned underground, slave to his shadows. He reached down to pull her up for a kiss—it felt like years since he had kissed her!—and froze in horror when he saw the slackness of her face. He gently turned her over, and, noticing the gaping wound in her chest, let forth a low, anguished cry. “No,” he moaned as his memories returned. “No,” he said as he remembered confidently stepping into the light only to be pulled back to the Land of Shadows. “No,” he said as he remembered the years he had spent in utter darkness, knowing nothing of his former life with Sandra. “No,” he said as he remembered their conversation in the throne room only moments before. “No,” he said again as he picked up her still-warm body, and, almost as an afterthought, the lump of lead she had been trying to bring to the throne.

It was immensely heavy, and it was clear why she had not been able to move it, but it did not seem right for him to leave it behind, in the dark, so despite its weight he carried it with her. As he carried her, his sobs were dry, for he would not shed tears, not yet, not yet. As a great magician she had given him her heart, and so surely he, as a great magician, could figure out how to save her. He carried her out of the palace and back to where the forest had been.

He could barely spare a moment to wonder what had happened, with Sandra in his arms, but he could see that instead of trees, a numberless crowd milled about on a plain, golden dreams swimming and flying between them.

“Did you do that to her?” One of the crowd asked Pitch. He was a starved-looking man, with hollow eyes and livid bruises around his neck. Even looking so weak, he seemed to be getting ready to attack the King of the Land of Shadows.

“NO!” Pitch snarled at him. “She gave me her heart because I had none,” he continued, his voice breaking.

“What?” A washed-out woman shrieked. “You fool! You still have two hearts between you!” She waved arms with long thin scars trailing from the inside of her elbows to her wrists. “What do you think you are holding in your hand?”

“It’s a lump of lead,” he said. “Sandra had it with her…she was trying to bring it to me.”

“That’s because it’s your heart!” The woman yelled. “It’s only coated in lead!”

“How do you know?”

“Idiot! Do you think we, who were the forest, do not know how to recognize a broken heart?”

The vast crowd nodded, drawing closer.

“I must melt the lead, then, and give her my heart!” Pitch said, looking around at them, frantic. “Even if it is broken!” He bent down to kiss her forehead. “She cannot live without one, like I did. She was never a creature of shadows. Not even a little bit.

“But there is nothing to burn, in my kingdom.”

“Yes there is,” said the man with bruises around his neck. “When her dreams made us feel human again, our branches fell on the ground. You can burn them. We have no need for them anymore.”

The crowd parted, and piled high on the path were the fallen branches of the people that had gone to the Land of Shadows.

Pitch laid Sandra down on the ground and set his heart beside her. As a magician, he knew he could make a fire, but as the King of the Land of Shadows, he was now unsure. Fires were light and heat. Lighting a fire in his realm might destroy it.

He summoned fire to the branches, and, so old and dry was the wood, that it soon became a mighty bonfire. If it would destroy the Land of Shadows, so be it. He would save his wife first.

Pitch picked up the lump of lead in his hands and walked forward, expecting the bright light and the blazing heat to forbid his progress with every step. Yet he found himself able to bear the light, and even to enjoy the heat, and Sandra’s heart beat faster in his chest. Finally, he was close enough to hold the heart into the leaping flames, and the battered metal began to smooth. The dents vanished, the surface softened, and the lead soon began to run off from the object at the center.

A black heart appeared from the melting metal, and when it was free, the heat of the fire set it to beating. With that motion, it was no longer heavy, and Pitch ran from the center of the flames with the heart until he reached Sandra. He knelt down next to her and placed his beating heart within her chest, and saw it continue to beat. He pressed her wound closed, and saw it begin to knit.

And even though it was not necessary to the magic, he kissed her, then, until she woke, and flung her arms around his neck, and kissed him back.

She carried them out of the Land of Shadows on her cloud of sand, and as she did so she left a way in and out of that Land, and many of the people who had once been trees followed them out, though none of them returned whole, and even Sandra did not regain her voice. But not all followed them out, for they had dreams in the Land of Shadows now, and a fire that even the shadows could not help but dance to, and it was very quiet, and very safe, and that was what some of them had been looking for in the first place.

So Pitch Black and Sandra returned to their fine house on the hill, and made many windows in its walls, and made known to everyone that it was no longer the Sorcerer’s House but the Sorcerers’ House. Now, with a heart of light beating in his chest, he was able to walk in the day, though he found he preferred dawn and twilight best. And with a heart of shadow beating in her chest, she found that noon was often too bright, and learned the subtle colors seen only under starlight. And she too found she liked dawn and twilight best.

They often held each other then, between day and night, gold eyes meeting (as his eyes had always been, and as hers had become) until they could not resist the meeting of lips and of bodies.

And the land around the Sorcerers’ House became famed for the wonderful dreams that visited sleepers, though Sandra’s sisters never noticed any change in theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments from Tumblr:
> 
> bowlingforgerbils said: That was wonderful. I loved the symbolism.
> 
> marypsue reblogged this from gretchensinister and added:  
> :sighs happily: #it's everything I could ahve hoped for#and more#and I think I read that book

**Author's Note:**

> Comments from Tumblr:
> 
> marypsue reblogged this from gretchensinister and added:  
> Ohhh, fairy tales! Also, I am curious to know whether two references to F+tM songs in the first part was intentional or entirely not. #yes yes beast husbands and arbitrary rules and gatekeeping prices and all things good#fairy tales are the backbone of human communication and who better to star in one?


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